


Penny Drop

by moonstone1520



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly, F/M, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Molly Hooper/Mary Morstan Friendship, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherrinford Holmes - Freeform, Third Holmes Brother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstone1520/pseuds/moonstone1520
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly was always waiting for the penny to drop with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually a fan of BAMF Molly, but then this happened.  
> I promise it will get better for Molly!

Molly was always waiting for the penny to drop with Sherlock.

She was always waiting for him to wake up and realize that he can do better than her. That he could be with someone smarter, more beautiful, less awkward and clumsy. Someone who wore designer pumps and clothing that fit her and accentuated her every curve, rather than the garish jumpers and frumpy trousers that made her feel comfortable and she wouldn’t be upset about ruining at work. Someone who was clever and articulate and didn’t stammer because she was nervous. Someone who was able to keep up with him when he was out and about solving crimes.

Someone like The Woman.

But when Sherlock would go out of his way to show the world she was his and he was hers; when he would kiss her in the morgue or at Baker Street, regardless of who was around; when he guarded her from the press when the news broke about their relationship; when he worshipped her body in the dark of night, she stopped waiting for the penny to drop with him.

Instead, the penny slowly dropped on her. That he really did care about her, truly loved her. He didn’t compare her to The Woman—he showed her there was no comparison; that Molly blew Irene out of the water ever time. He teased her about her clothing and kissed her when her stammering got too bad. He made an effort to stop for food and sleep when she accompanied him on cases.

He made it crystal clear that she was the only one in the world for him and nothing would ever change that.

Which is why it hurt so badly when he flatly told her one day that he couldn’t continue their relationship any longer.

She stood silently in the living room as he gathered the things that had slowly accumulated at her flat. He barely glanced at her as he closed the door behind him, shutting her out of his life. She blankly wandered around her flat, taking in the familiar details that no longer looked familiar. His experiments no longer littered her kitchen counter. His toothbrush was missing from her bathroom. His second best dressing gown had vanished from the back of her bedroom door. Even the photo of the two of them—the only photo she knew of, the one that Mary had slyly taken one day in hospital when both were visiting her and John after the baby was born—even that was gone.

It’s as though Sherlock Holmes had never existed in her world.

At that, Molly curled into herself on her bed. She ignored the ringing of her mobile. She ignored the knocking at her door that turned into pounding and then the shouting of John and Mary. She ignored the sounds of the lock being picked and Lestrade kicking the door open. She retreated into herself so far that she had no sense of herself. She was safe and warm, away from the pain she knew she would have to feel eventually.

Because the penny finally dropped.

Sherlock Holmes had finally, and irrevocably, broken her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Mary whispered. She peeked around the corner at the petite pathologist perched on their couch, rocking their daughter. She moved over a bit to make room for John. His brow furrowed at the question.

“Molly’s always been a strong bird. She’ll come around.”

“John, she hasn’t cried. Not a tear. Not one! It’s been two weeks. I’m getting seriously worried.” John shrugged.

 “The only thing we can do is wait until she’s ready and be there when the dam bursts. And give Sherlock a right kick if we ever see him again.”

***

Molly heard Mary and John whispering and knew it was about her. Their conversations with each other and with Lestrade had rarely revolved around anything but during the last two weeks. She knew they were worried—to be honest, she was slightly worried about herself. She hadn’t cried since Sherlock left. She simply…went numb. She was very comfortably numb and was hoping to stay that way as long as possible, though logically, she knew that was the worst thing she could do—the longer the inevitable was delayed, the worse the pain would be.

But she didn’t care. She was functioning as she always did, albeit with a bit more of a zombielike air. She got up, went to work, performed the duties of her post, returned home, fed Toby and went to bed. It was only after three days of the routine, after Lestrade had mentioned getting a pint with himself and Donovan after work, that she remembered she hadn’t eaten since Sherlock had left. One proper verbal thrashing by Sally and a phone call to the Watsons later, and Molly had enough food in her fridge to feed a small battalion, and someone to make sure she ate every night. Most nights it was Mary and John with the baby. At least little Lizzie helped to break Molly a little out of the fog she was in. Speaking of whom…

“Mary,” Molly called softly. The child was beginning to fuss—Molly suspected she was hungry. She heard footsteps and felt Mary gently take Lizzie from her arms.  She felt a dip in the cushion next to her and turned to see Mary sit next to her. Molly raised her brows questioningly.

“John’s got her. Lizzie can wait a bit longer to be fed.” Mary stared unflinchingly at Molly. “Molly, I know we aren’t very close, but please know that if we can do anything—if I can do anything, please call me. Anytime, day or night, alright? Please know that. I will always answer and, if you need me to, I will be at your flat within ten minutes.” Molly raised her eyebrows.

“You live twenty minutes from my flat.”

Mary smirked. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t break a few laws on the way there.” The remark earned Mary a watery giggle. Perhaps cracks were forming?

“Thank you, Mary. I’ll bear that in mind.”

***

The buzzer to her flat woke Molly the next day.

She groaned once when she regained consciousness, and again when she realized that it was early afternoon instead of late morning. Luckily, she had the day off from the morgue. She padded over to her door and opened it to see a delivery.

“Molly Hooper?”

She nodded.

“Sign here, please.”

Molly’s heart stopped when she saw the return address was Baker Street.

***

“You sure? Alright, just… I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry, Molls.” John looked at his wife as she frantically threw on her coat and grabbed her purse. He rocked Lizzie as he watched.

“Molly?”

“Yes.”

“Is everything alright?”

Mary glanced at her husband on her way out the door. “Not in the slightest.” She paused. "But it will be."

***

Mary let herself in to Molly’s flat. “Molly?” She found her sprawled out on the floor in front of her sofa, the box open, the contents scattered about. Molly was fingering a small stuffed bear wearing a deerstalker and holding a magnifying glass. She glanced up at Mary.

“I gave this to him years ago as a lark. After those photos with the deerstalker hit the papers. I thought it was so funny how much he hated that bloody hat. I gave it to him after he fell. I went to his flat that night, right before he left. It made him smile for a moment.” She sniffled and shifted as Mary sat down next to her. “He never really saw me before. Not really, anyways. Not until that day he asked me to kill him. He took the bear from me, he smiled, he said thank you, and he kissed me. N-not on the mouth or anything,” she stammered, “but on my forehead. And then he whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come back.’” Molly stopped and looked at Mary, the tears that welled in her eyes falling down her cheeks. “He’s not coming back this time, is he?”

Mary had no answer. The only thing she could do was take Molly in her arms and hold her while she sobbed.

The dam had finally burst.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days turned into weeks; the weeks turned into months. Molly soldiered along, pretending her heart didn’t clench when she saw the damn bear sitting on her sofa. She ignored the twist in her stomach when she heard Lestrade’s baritone sound through the morgue corridors and remembered Sherlock wouldn’t be accompanying him. And she rationalized that she had food poisoning when she bolted for the loo and heaved the contents of her stomach after seeing Sherlock’s face on the television.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to beta, let me know! 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all of the comments! This story was originally intended to be a one shot, but the overwhelming response obviously prompted to write more! I hope it meets your expectations!

After that night with Mary, Molly allowed herself to feel the pain that she fought against to begin with. And it was awful.

The days turned into weeks; the weeks turned into months. Molly soldiered along, pretending her heart didn’t clench when she saw the damn bear sitting on her sofa. She ignored the twist in her stomach when she heard Lestrade’s baritone sound through the morgue corridors and remembered Sherlock wouldn’t be accompanying him. And she rationalized that she had food poisoning when she bolted for the loo and heaved the contents of her stomach after seeing Sherlock’s face on the television.

She knew from hearing snippets of conversations between Mary, John and Lestrade that Sherlock had left London soon after he broke it off with her and had recently turned up in Lisbon. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since he left—which was just as well: if Molly even mentioned Sherlock, John’s fists would clench and Mary’s eyes would harden. Mycroft even had the sense to avoid them, though he seemed to be in the dark as much as everyone else as to the reason for Sherlock suddenly fleeing the country.

Mary was especially protective of Molly. Molly had always been one of the strong ones, but having the man she loved reject her so coldly and so out of the blue had blown a hole into her life and Mary was left to help pick up the pieces—again.  And she meant what she said about being there to help Molly. Her mobile didn’t ring often, but when it did, Mary knew it was serious.

“Well, at least he isn’t stuck in London living the boring life with me,” Molly joked weakly, after seeing a news program about the elusive detective. Mary grabbed Molly’s shoulders so hard, she gasped.

“You listen to me, Molly Hooper,” Mary said firmly. “That sodding man was damned lucky to have someone like you love him after everything he has put you through over the years. _He_ was the lucky one, not you. He _does not_ deserve you and nor could he ever hope to ever again after this stunt. You are not boring. You are not weak. You are not foolish. You are not stupid. You are the bravest and strongest woman I’ve met and you deserve nothing less than a man who will love you wholeheartedly, unashamedly and without fail.” Mary cocked her head in contemplation. “You deserve a John,” she mused, earning a giggle from Molly. Mary smiled in return, but quickly sobered. “We don’t know why he left. But even if it was to save England from an alien invasion, the way he treated you is unforgiveable.” Mary paused, wiping a stray tear from Molly’s cheek. “I know he loved you. We all knew he loved you. I’d bet my life he still does. And I hope it’s killing him on the inside.”

Molly shook her head. “If he hurts half as badly as I do, that would be enough.”

Mary smiled coldly. “If he ever comes back to London and runs into John and me, he will.”

***

Eight months after Sherlock left, Molly went out on a date with Michael McCabe, the new pathologist at Bart’s. The tall, dark haired tech bore no resemblance to the man she loved… except for the eyes. He had Sherlock’s eyes and it disconcerted Molly every time he caught her gaze. With the exception of that one distinguishing physical feature, Michael was Sherlock’s exact opposite in personality. He was outgoing, pleasant, funny, fun to be around, and, Molly had to note, incredibly attractive. She found it adorable the way he stuttered when asking her out, and though she knew she wasn’t ready, she decided to go out with him anyways. Their connection was immediate, however to Molly it felt…wrong. She struggled to keep thoughts of the detective out of her mind and to focus on her date, but by the end of the evening, Michael knew.

“We’re not going out again, are we?”

She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Michael. It’s just… well, there was someone. A while ago. I haven’t quite gotten over him yet.”

“I understand.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Tell you what. I’m not going anywhere for the time being. When you feel ready to go out with a charmingly awkward bloke, give me ring.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “See you around, Molly.” Molly watched him walk away… then tilted her head to _watch him walk away_.

“I’ll definitely be ringing you again, Michael McCabe,” she murmured. She sighed and ordered another drink. “I just need some more time.”

***

A year after Sherlock left, Molly was packing for a conference when she came across the bear. He had been stuffed under her bed, possibly by Lizzie, who was fond of ransacking Molly’s flat whenever she babysat. Molly fingered the deerstalker, the magnifying glass, even the coat she had specially made for the stuffed animal. Molly smiled at the memory it brought back, but the need to cry was no longer there. Her heart ached, but she knew that would never truly go away. She felt ready to move on. Sherlock wasn’t coming back. He was no longer in her life and she deserved to have one. She pulled out her mobile and located the number she was looking for.

“Michael? It’s Molly. Um, are you free next weekend? Would you like to have dinner?”

As she laughed at his response, she gently put the Sherlock bear into a little used drawer in her desk, putting away the past and focusing on her future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So… are you going to say yes?”

“So… are you going to say yes?” John shifted Lizzie to his other hip, silently grateful that Molly was holding his coffee so he didn’t have to juggle both his much needed caffeine and a sleeping toddler. The woman in question handed off her coffees to Mary, now juggling three cups, while Molly reached up to tame her new bob that was blowing about crazily in the crisp fall wind.

“I don’t know,” she replied, taking her coffee back from Mary. “I just… I don’t know.”

“You’re not hesitating because of Sherlock are you?” Mary asked. Molly sipped her coffee and declined to answer. “Oh, Molls. Don’t give up your chance at happiness because of a ghost. It’s not what he would have wanted.”

“Well, I’ll never know what Sherlock really wanted will I?” Molly asked bitterly. “It’s not like he’s going to show up tomorrow and say, ‘Hi Molly, sorry I ran off two years ago, I’m back now, let’s skip the part where we cry and yell and just make up, yeah?’” She clenched her jaw in anger, shoving her fist into her pocket so she could squeeze the stress ball she kept there. Having recently been promoted, Molly’s hours at the morgue had become longer and the paperwork more tedious, so she kept a stress ball in her coat pocket for when she took walks on her breaks to relieve the monotony and the tension she knew she was accumulating.

“Molly, we all know Sherlock. Or thought we did at least,” John said, “and the man we all know— _knew_ —would have wanted you to be happy. _We_ want you to be happy. You deserve a chance at a husband, the 2.5 kids, the dog and the white picket fence. It’s not our place to know what happened between you and Tom, but you didn’t get that chance with him and Sherlock didn’t give you that chance at all. Michael is a right decent bloke, Molly. We all like him. Lestrade ran a background check on him—Mary asked for it!” he exclaimed when Molly whirled on him in a fury.

“You did what?!”

Mary shrugged, nonplussed. “Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a psychopathic serial killer is all,” she smirked, hiding her smile behind her coffee. Molly groaned.

“One time. I date a psychopath _one time_ and you lot hold it against me for eternity.”

“Can’t be too careful!” Mary replied cheerfully.

“The point is, Molly,” John continued, shifting again as Lizzie fussed in her sleep, “Michael is good for you. He loves you and he wants to marry you and he’s willing to give you as much time as you need to make a decision. If that isn’t a man worth marrying, I don’t know what is.”

Molly sipped her coffee. “Have you heard where he is now?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could. She missed the Watsons exchange a glance over her head. After a beat, Mary answered the question.

“Sally saw an article about him being in Romania. It was dated three days ago, so he must have arrived recently.”

“Hmm,” was Molly’s response. The Watsons exchanged another glance.

“Molly… you don’t have to say yes,” Mary volunteered. Molly looked at the other woman out of the corner of her eye and waited. “If it doesn’t feel right with Michael, it’s okay. We’ll still love you and support you. Just make sure that whatever you do, you do it because _you want to_. Not because it’s expected of you or because he’s the safe bet or because he’s simply there. If you do marry Michael, make sure it’s because you love him enough to want to be with him for the rest of your life. He can’t replace Sherlock, Molly.” Mary stopped, causing Molly to stop too. Their eyes met and locked, as John continued on a bit, trying to bounce Lizzie back to sleep, but keeping an ear on the conversation.

“He can’t replace Sherlock and we don’t expect him to. I’m sure Michael doesn’t expect to replace Sherlock, either. We all know how much you loved him—how much you do love him and always will. But make sure you aren’t waiting for him to come back, either. Because if you are, let Michael go. Because, if you are, you might never stop waiting.” Mary took Molly’s hand and squeezed. “And that, above everything else, is vastly unfair.”

“To whom?” Molly whispered.

Mary smiled sadly. “To you.” Molly cracked a smile and ducked her head. She tugged her hand out of Mary’s grasp and swiped at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

“It’s been two years,” Molly chuckled. “You’d think I’d be over this by now.”

“You been in love with Sherlock since before I met you, Molls,” John piped up. He shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll ever leave you. Bloody hell, it took me two years to move on from him dying and we were simply best mates. Contrary to what certain nosy landladies might have thought,” he added dryly, earning another giggle from Molly.

“What if I just don’t want to be alone anymore?” Molly asked quietly.

Mary shrugged. “Well, that’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself. If it’s worth marrying Michael for that reason.”

“Honestly though? The Molly Hooper I know is stronger than that. She doesn’t and has never needed a man to complete her.” The two women looked at John in surprise. “What?”

“When did you become such a bloody feminist?” Mary asked.

John grinned. “When I married you,” he shot back.

Mary pursed her lips and tilted her head in thought. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” She turned back to Molly. “Did he give you a… a deadline? For lack of a better term.”

“Yeah, um, I’m supposed to have dinner with him tomorrow night.”

“Well, whatever decision you make Molly, make sure you make it for the right reasons.”

***

Molly stared at the open ring box on her coffee table, her chin resting on her knees. The words from the news program she had on the television filtered in and out of her consciousness. The simple diamond ring glinted in the fading sunlight, casting rainbows on her walls. She needed to make a decision soon. But when she thought about either choice, neither seemed to sit well with her and she couldn’t quite put a finger on why. At least, she wouldn’t acknowledge why. She had her mobile in her hand and was about to call Michael when the television grabbed her attention.

“…Sherlock Holmes, who hasn’t been seen in London in two years, has been spotted at Heathrow airport today. Though whether the famous consulting detective was arriving or departing England remains a mystery for now…”

Molly stopped breathing. _Sherlock is in London?_ Her heart began pounding wildly, her head spinning. _Sherlock? In London? Now?_ The ringing of her mobile startled her so badly, she fell off her couch, frightening Toby, who was sleeping next to her.

“Hello?”

“Molly, did you see the news?” Mary asked.

“Y-yes, I saw it.”

“Did he call you?” Molly didn’t answer. Mary cursed under her breath. “That unbelievable bastard.”

“Did he call John?” Molly squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, afraid of the answer.

“No—” Molly released the breath she was holding—“no, he didn’t. John’s fine though, he more pissed off than anything. The question is, are you okay?”

Molly stopped. She watched the program as Sherlock’s face splashed across the screen. Her eyes darted to the ring that was still sitting on the coffee table. She reached out and fingered it, picking up the box and examining the contents.

“Mary? I’ll call you back. There’s something I need to do first.” Her eyes still locked on the screen, she dialed Michael’s number and held the phone to her ear.

“Michael? Let’s have dinner tonight. I have an answer for you.” And with that, Molly snapped the ring box shut.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ring on her finger felt simultaneously too heavy and too light. The veil on her head felt as though it was going to suffocate her. Her white dress, so smooth against her skin, suddenly felt hot and itchy. In the back of her logical mind, Molly knew she was panicking, but she didn’t know how else to react when she saw Sherlock Holmes appear at her doorstep on her wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your kudos and comments! It always makes me smile when I get that email and it makes me so happy that you all love this story!
> 
> For [afteriwake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake), cause she saw the first couple of paragraphs of this and encouraged me to write what eventually was chapter 4. Hope you like what I added to this one!

The ring on her finger felt simultaneously too heavy and too light. The veil on her head felt as though it was going to suffocate her. Her white dress, so smooth against her skin, suddenly felt hot and itchy. In the back of her logical mind, Molly knew she was panicking, but she didn’t know how else to react when she saw Sherlock Holmes appear at her doorstep on her wedding day. She heard Mary and John let loose strings of curse words behind her. She heard their voices grow louder as they approached the Consulting Detective. She watched Sherlock inhale as he tried to say his piece.

Then the cacophony suddenly ceased as Sherlock crumpled to the floor. Molly came back to herself with a rush of pure, unadulterated anger, the likes of which she hadn’t felt since he’d shown up high in her lab. Her fist throbbed, and she was fairly certain a bone or two was fractured, but none of that mattered compared to the sorry sight before her. Through the haze of red, she noticed that he had lost a considerable amount of weight, the hair at his temples had begun to turn grey, and he sported a new scar on his throat.

“Three. Years,” she ground out. Sherlock stared up at her in shock, his hand covering his right eye. The Watsons stood behind her, also in shock, John’s jaw almost hitting the floor. “Three bloody years. You leave. Without a sodding word. And you have the absolute gall to show up on my doorstep ON MY BLOODY WEDDING DAY with no warning or explanation.”

“If you’d let me explain—”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT SHERLOCK!” Molly screamed. The pressure behind her eyes mounted and she realized that she was about to burst into tears. “You left me! You up and left me out of the blue! You let me think you didn’t love me, that everything we had together was a lie—”

“It wasn’t a lie,” he murmured quietly. He slowly climbed to his feet, his hand still covering his eye.

Molly glared at him, her eyes blazing with fury. “What?”

“It. Wasn’t. A. Lie,” he emphasized. “It never was.” He removed his hand from his eye and Molly stifled a gasp—she’d punched him much harder than she thought. His zygomatic bone was almost certainly fractured and his eye was swollen shut already. She resisted the urge to drag him inside and tend to his wound.

“There were very good reasons for my leaving, but you should know I did not leave because I did not love you. Not for a moment.”

Molly stifled the urge to throttle him even as she felt an unwelcome wave of love wash over her at his words.

“Actions speak louder than words though, don’t they Sherlock?” He bowed his head. John cleared his throat behind her.

“I think we’ll um, go out for a brisk walk, yeah?”

“No,” Molly replied firmly. She turned to face the couple. Mary had gone pale, but stood firm. John shifted, avoiding looking at Sherlock, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “No. You can stay. He,” she faced Sherlock, “will be leaving. He will not be spoiling what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”

“But you’re not happy,” he countered. “Not really.”

Molly raised her chin. “No, you’re right. I’m not. I still love you, Sherlock.” She shrugged. “I always will. But you’ve buggered up this time. There’s no fixing this. You left me in the most brutal and agonizing way you possibly could, with no explanation. I’ve met someone who loves me and who will never treat me the way you have.” Molly placed her hand on her door. “Now, please go away so I can get married.”

“Molly, will you even let me explain why I left?” he asked brokenly, his voice low and raspy. At that, she hesitated. Did she really want to reopen old wounds that had taken so much time to heal? She glanced at him, calculating. He gazed down at her, his expression sad, his entire demeanor defeated. She felt a surge of affection for this man who broke her. He looked far more broken than she ever did. What had he been up to these past three years? Nonetheless…

“No.”

She heard Mary (or was it John?) gasp behind her and she looked away as Sherlock slumped even more than he already was.

“Sherlock, you’ve had many chances to come back to say your piece,” Molly began. “We all know you’ve been in and out of London the past three years. You never came to see us. You never called. You never bothered to explain yourself. So, no, Sherlock. I don’t want to hear why you left, because,” she continued, glancing at her ring, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Molly…” he breathed.

“Now,” she whispered, fighting the tears she knew were forming behind her eyes, her request turning into a plea, “please, _please_ , go away so I can get married.” She began to close the door in his face when—

“Molly, if you don’t come with me you’re going to die today.”

At that, the door flew open and Sherlock found himself _manhandled_ into the tiny flat and thrown against the wall. John’s face in front of him, Mary slightly behind.

“Please tell me,” he said with eerie calmness, “that you did not just threaten Molly Hooper.”

“What? N—no,” Sherlock stuttered in outrage, his characteristic demeanor returning for a moment. _Oh, there’s the Sherlock I remember_ , Molly thought.

“Then explain what you mean,” Mary added, also in an eerily calm voice. “The woman has been through enough, Sherlock. This had better not be a ploy to win her back.”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “We all know I don’t do _sentiment_ and _feelings_ ,” he spit, the words dripping with disdain, “so I would hope that you’d allow that it is entirely outside of the realm of possibility to concoct a _ploy_ that would interfere with Molly’s happiness.” He pushed John out of his face and pulled his suitcoat properly over his frame.

“But Janine—” John protested.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Sherlock shouted. “Janine was for a bloody case! We’ve been through that over and over! Yes, it was a bit not good, yes I did a bad thing, but it was to get to Magnussen. At the very least it should have shown you that I can seduce the opposite sex!”

The room froze as Sherlock’s words penetrated. He ran his hands through his curls, and swallowed hard, conscious that Mary and John were glaring at him. Molly stared out the window, her arms folded over her chest.

“I’d never try to win her back,” he murmured. “God knows I don’t deserve her and, now, could never hope to. I do hope you’ll be happy Molly,” he said, directing his words at her. “All I’ve ever wanted for you is your happiness. And I regret with my entire being that I was the one who took that away from you. But if you don’t come with me, you and Michael will be in serious danger.”

Molly whipped her gaze at Sherlock.  “Now hang on a bloody minute—” John protested.

“Shut up, John,” Molly said in a tone that brokered no argument. Sherlock’s blood ran cold at her voice and he raised an eyebrow when John did, indeed, shut up.

Molly stared at Sherlock, and he finally realized how all of his clients felt when he focused on them the way Molly was focusing on him: like she was x-raying him inside and out; the feeling was most unsettling. John and Mary exchanged glances, a wordless conversation passing between both of them. Finally, Molly spoke.

“You don’t deserve my trust, Sherlock Holmes. But—” she started, as Sherlock opened his mouth, “this one time, I will. Only because you said Michael is in danger and that, more than anything, is what is most important to me right now. Danger _would_ follow you wherever you bloody go,” she muttered in annoyance.

She crossed the room and stood in front of Sherlock. “Where are we going?”

“Mycroft’s got a car out front,” he replied. Molly noticed that he didn’t answer the question and— _wait, Mycroft?!_

She opened her mouth to yell at him, but he lunged forward and silenced her by covering her mouth with his hand and slipping an arm around her waist. “Molly, you have every right to yell and scream at me, and I swear to all the gods that are listening that you will get your chance, but right now, _we have to move_.” He took her by the hand and tugged her out of the flat.

“I’m going to kill you, Sherlock Holmes!” Molly yelled, the sound echoing in the stairwell.

“Wait a bloody minute, what the HELL is going on?” John shouted in frustration.

“Bloody good question,” Mary replied as she followed Sherlock and Mary out of the flat. She stopped at the doorway and turned back to her husband. “Coming?”

John opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it, rolling his eyes skyward and groaning. “I can never get a sodding moment’s peace with him around,” he muttered angrily, following his wife. “Do we need to stop at the flat and get your guns?”

“Might as well,” Mary quipped. She stopped on the stairs and turned to her husband. “You know, as angry as I am at the arsehole, I did miss this.” She smiled brilliantly and rushed to follow Sherlock and Molly.

“Of course you did,” John sighed. _Me too_ , he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bullet holes in the back of the car that Mycroft had provided finally convinced her that she was in very real and immediate danger.

The bolt hole was minimal. It was a tiny cabin in the country, big enough only for two people… but not big enough for the words unsaid between said two people. The atmosphere and tension in the cabin was suffocating. It took everything Molly had to not run away and find her fiancé… or to throw herself into Sherlock’s arms and snog him senseless; she wasn’t quite sure which the larger impulse was. The bullet holes in the back of the car that Mycroft had provided finally convinced her that she was in very real and immediate danger.

***

“Where’s Michael?” she demanded, climbing into the car and not seeing him there.

“Mycroft contacted him before I rushed over here. He’s gone into hiding within MI6 with strict instructions not to contact you in case he gives away his or your position. He’s an agent, Molly, he can fend for himself,” Sherlock said flippantly.

Molly’s eyes narrowed as she processed this explosive piece of information. “Michael… is an MI6 agent?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied. “Mycroft posted him at Bart’s the day after I… left,” he trailed off. He glanced at Molly, and would have taken the time to appreciate her wedding day finery, had he not noticed the gob smacked expression on her face. “Molly?”

“Michael is an MI6 agent. Who was posted… by your brother… to protect me?” she squeaked.

Sherlock wisely kept quiet, allowing her to process the revelation, but hissed in pain when a pothole jarred the car. The sound attracted Molly’s attention. She blinked and hesitantly reached out to him. She closed her hand around his wrist and pulled it away from his eye.

“Oh, Sherlock!” she whispered. She used her other hand to turn his chin towards her, to obtain a better view of his face. His cheek was swollen and turning colors, but the damage didn’t seem to be as bad as Molly initially thought. She examined her own fingers, bending and flexing, and realized the bones were bruised, but not fractured. Sherlock’s face on the other hand…

“We need to get an x-ray and see what the damage is,” she said.

“It can wait,” Sherlock replied quietly.

“Sherlock, if you let this go untreated—”

“It can wait,” he said, firmly.

Molly pursed her lips, clearly unhappy. She opened her mouth to respond, when what sounded like explosives went off and holes appeared in the rear window of the car. Sherlock pulled Molly down, threw himself on top of her and shouted, “DRIVE!”

“Sherlock!” Molly cried, holding onto him as though her life depended on it—which it did.

“I’m here, Molly,” he murmured in her ear. She closed her eyes, flinching as she heard responding gun fire go off around them. Sherlock’s grip on her tightened. “John and Mary will take care of them.”

“Are they following us?” She felt Sherlock’s weight lift off her body a bit as he peeked out the car window.

“The Watsons are, yes. They’re taking out the gunmen.” Gunfire burst out again, and he ducked, pushing himself closer to Molly. “If John could figure out how to bloody aim,” he said through grit teeth.

“Just get us to wherever we’re going, Sherlock!” she shouted, panic flooding her mind and body.

“ANTHEA!” he responded, “LOSE THEM!” The car swerved sharply to the right in response, and again to the left. Molly heard the screeching of metal and tires as she fought to keep from tumbling to the floor. She felt blood run down her face from the minute cuts the glass from the rear window had created—she was sure Sherlock wasn’t fairing much better. All of a sudden, Anthea shouted, metal screeched and twisted and the last thing Molly heard before she blacked out was Sherlock shouting.

***

She came to in a sterile hospital room. Mary’s face hovered above her as it slowly came into focus. Her lip was cut and she had a scratch on her forehead, but she didn’t seem much the worse for the wear.

“Did a truck hit me?” she rasped.

Mary smiled. “Do you feel like a truck hit you?”

Molly groaned in response. “I feel like a bloody eighteen wheeler ran me over. Did a bloody eighteen wheeler run me over?”

“No,” Mary giggled. “No eighteen wheeler. You did hit a brick wall though—literally. Anthea lost control of the car when the bullets hit the windshield.” Mary pushed away a lock of Molly’s hair. “She’ll be fine, though. Broken ankle and a fractured collarbone. Could have been much worse.”

“Mmm,” Molly replied blearily. “She did good driving.” She remembered where she was and what had happened and shot up suddenly. “Sherlock!”

“Is getting his face looked at by John,” Mary soothed, pushing Molly back down into the bed she was lying in. Which was just as well, since she began feeling dizzy and nauseated the second she was upright. “He has a fractured cheekbone, but it isn’t so bad that it needs surgery. He needs to avoid chewing for a while until it heals on its own.”

Molly did a quick self-assessment before asking the question. “And me?”

“You’re concussed and your dress is ruined and you aren’t getting married today, but other than that, you’re fine.”

“And don’t tell Paul, but I’m not getting married today,” Molly sang. She giggled, earning an eye roll from Mary.

“Alright, Loopy-Loo,” Mary deadpanned.

 Molly let her giggle fit peter out and sobered. “Any word from Michael?”

“That is something we will discuss at a later time,” came a smooth drawl. Molly inwardly groaned. Bad enough she had to deal with one Holmes brother today, but both of them?

“Mary can hear whatever you have to tell me, Mycroft,” Molly said. She mustered up as much of a glare as she could in her current state—which wasn’t much; he wasn’t put out in the slightest. Which irked Molly a bit as she was always so proud of the fact that she was the only one Mycroft was truly scared of, other than his own mother.

“For their own safety, I think it best that Doctor and Mrs. Watson refrain from knowing more than they need to,” he said. “We’ve established that you and Sherlock are the targets here. No need to complicate matters by involving more people than necessary.”

“But why is she a target?” Mary asked. “Sherlock hasn’t been near her for three years. Why now? What’s changed since he ran off?”

“I would imagine it has a great deal to do with Miss Hooper’s impending nuptials,” Mycroft replied, his gaze resting steadily on Molly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Mycroft, or is Sherlock going to? And is it going to be now or later? I’m getting right bloody tired of this cloak and dagger nonsense and it’s only mid-afternoon. I’m usually game for at least a day and a half before I make Sherlock tell me what’s going on,” Molly groused.

Mycroft hummed, amused. “Once we get you to the safe house, my brother will inform you of what has been occurring these last three years.”

“Promise?” she whispered, overwhelmed with the thought of finally achieving a semblance of closer, as Mary pulled her close.

“You have my word,” a deep baritone responded. She looked up and met Sherlock’s eyes, knowing that she’d have the truth of why he left soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the hiatus, lovelies! Writer's block and life got in the way of updating. Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, they really make this writer happy! Hope you enjoy this tidbit before I get to the really juicy bits!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s your face?” Molly would ask at least once a day. The glare she received in response made her feel slightly superior and a bit petty, but considering she had to wait six weeks for an explanation that was three years coming, she felt she deserved to be a little petty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, for [afteriwake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake). Thank you for all of your edits and feedback!

“How’s your face?” Molly would ask at least once a day. The glare she received in response made her feel slightly superior and a bit petty, but considering she had to wait six weeks for an explanation that was three years coming, she felt she deserved to be a little petty.

Sherlock’s jaw had been wired shut to accommodate the healing of his zygomatic arch that—thankfully—did not require surgery to fix. He was, however, limited to a liquid diet and lack of speaking for six weeks—hence the wired jaw. While the liquid diet didn’t bother Sherlock, as he barely ate when his jaw wasn’t forced closed, the quietness from her former lover was beginning to unnerve Molly. Oh, he played the violin incessantly—she had to confiscate the instrument at one point—and texted her constantly with asinine comments, observations and snarks, but the lack of actual words was beginning to unsettle her. Considering it was just the two of them in the cabin and no closer to getting answers with regards to who wanted her dead and where her fiancé was, Molly was close to going bonkers. Nor had Mycroft been the help she was hoping he’d be—big brother seemed to be mostly in the dark, save a few large details like Michael being an MI6 spy.

 _“How long has this been going on?” she’d asked while Sherlock was in surgery. She’d sat on her hospital bed, her knee-length wedding dress in tatters and shreds, her veil thrown haphazardly next to her. She’d felt like a walking bruise and wanted to sleep for a week, but her brain had been thrown into overdrive. Mary and John had edged out at some point, sensing the conversation Molly wanted to have with Mycroft was not one they would be privileged to. He stood in front of her, looking suitably abashed and scared._ **_There we go. Knew I still had it_** , _she thought._

_“Molly, I think Sherlock is the person you’ll want to speak with—”_

_“How. Long. Mycroft,” she’d breathed, her tone tense._

_Mycroft had inhaled. “Since he was posted at Bart’s.”_

_She’d stared at him, her brain misfiring from the revelation. “Three years? He’s been spying on me for three years?”_

_“Protecting you,” Mycroft had corrected gently. “I personally placed him at Bart’s when Sherlock left. He was removed from your detail when he expressed interest in pursuing more…_ ** _intimate_**... _relations with you.”_

_“Protecting me from what?” she’d asked, her arms coming up to hug herself._

_Mycroft had shrugged. “Sherlock leaves often and frequently without notice on cases and it’s failed to tip my radar as it’s never been something that merited my attention. However, the day he left, he sent me one word—two, actually that alerted me to the possibility that you were in very real danger.”_

_“Oh?” Molly had asked, her eyes burning._

_“Cherry blossom,” he’d replied. He had watched as her brow furrowed as she mentally turned the phrase over._

_“Cherry blossom?” she’d repeated._

_“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mycroft had said. “Sherlock and I only discussed the phrase once, after you and he had entered into a relationship and we were discussing protective arrangements for you. ‘Cherry blossom’ indicated the highest level of protection possible was to be activated and you were to be under said protection until he deemed it was safe to withdraw it. I was to treat your safety as tantamount to protecting the Queen in a national emergency and this level of protection was only to be activated when your life was in imminent danger from threats Sherlock was unable to protect you from alone.”_

_Molly had felt a cold shudder run through her. “That bad?”_

_“Indeed.”_

_Molly had remained silent as she turned the new information in her mind. “So… Michael has always been an MI6 agent? Even after you… removed him from my… detail?”_

_Mycroft had at least had the decency to look at her when he answered in the affirmative. “Though, at his request, he was mostly relegated to desk work. He didn’t want to have to lie to you more than he already was. An admirable trait,” he had said, without sarcasm. “Considering how my brother has mistreated your affections, I approved of Michael and his place as your paramour.”_

_Molly had raised an eyebrow at that. “Thank you?”_

_“Be on your guard, Molly,” Mycroft had said, a warning in his voice. “I only have the vaguest idea of what we’re dealing with, but clearly, someone wants you and Sherlock extinguished. Be very, very careful.”_

Which led them to the secluded cabin in the countryside. Molly had absolutely no idea where in England they were, if they were even in England anymore, and she had the sense that even Sherlock only had the barest clue of their location.

 _For your safety_ , she could hear Mycroft say in her head. She rolled her eyes skyward and exhaled in frustration. Sherlock looked up from the armchair he’d been planted in for the better part of an hour— _in his bloody mind palace, no doubt_ , Molly thought, irritated—and shot her a annoyed glance. _Let him get pissy_ , she steamed. _We’re bloody well stuck here for God knows how long and I’m still no closer to getting any sodding answers!_ The chime from her phone startled her from her reverie and she bit her lip as she pulled it from her pocket.

_If you must think out loud, please do it in a different room. It’s quite annoying. –SH_

She looked up at Sherlock. “I was talking out loud?” she asked sheepishly. He nodded briskly and settled back into the armchair, his hands clasped against his lips. “Sorry,” she said quietly, as she began to creep out of the living room. Halfway through the doorframe, however, she stopped as a thought struck her. “Hang on,” she began, turning back around and stomping into the room. “I’m _not_ sodding sorry.” She came to a stop in front of him and fixed her hands on her hips. “So what if I’m talking out loud? If you don’t like it, you can _sod offI_! Oh, don’t huff and puff at me,” she snapped over his exasperated sigh, “I’m stuck here with you for the foreseeable future, Sherlock Holmes. You left me and now you’re stuck with me until you and the British government put the kibosh on this bloody mess we’re in. Karma’s a right tit, isn’t it?” She strode over to sofa and threw herself on it, picking up the old magazine that was on the coffee table and loudly flipping pages, knowing it would irk him. Her phone chimed again.

_Are you finished with your childish tantrum? –SH_

Her eyes widened and she raised her gaze to fix the iciest glare she could manage on him. To his credit, Sherlock didn’t blink. “Tantrum?” she repeated, her voice dangerously low. She rose from her place on the sofa and stood. She moved towards him, like a tiger stalking its prey. “Oh, William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” she said silkily, noting how his eyes widened almost imperceptibly at her use of his full name, “I forget you’ve been gone for so long. You have absolutely no idea what kind of _tantrum_ I could throw.”  She invaded his space, planting her face in front of his, so close she could have kissed him had she wanted to. “Be careful, Sherlock,” she said menacingly, “if you’re not careful, I might. Just. Leave.”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked, a face Molly could still read after three years. _You wouldn’t dare_.

“Try me,” she replied, her eyes hardening. “I’m not the same girl I was three years ago, Sherlock. I’m not afraid of you leaving me anymore. You did once and I’m still here.”

She stared at him, willing him to stand down. He wouldn’t—which only made her angrier. She pursed her lips and stood. Sherlock watched her, his expression blank, his eyes stony. Molly walked across the small cabin and grabbed her coat and pocketbook, heading for the door. He was so quiet, she didn’t hear him behind her, so she let out a yelp when she opened the door and he came up behind her, slamming it shut. She turned to face him. His eyes were wild, desperate; he was shaking his head madly.

“Let me out, Sherlock,” she bit out. He shook his head harder, pushing against the door, preventing her from opening it. “I’m tired of all of this. Let me out!” she shouted.

“No, he’ll kill you!” he said frantically, the words sounding mangled through his clenched jaw.

“Who?!” Molly screamed. “Who wants us dead so badly he’d chase you to the ends of the earth and back to do it?”

 “My brother!” he shouted back. “My brother, damn it!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mycroft,” she stated with a chuckle. “Mycroft wants to kill me? Sherlock, your brother is terrified of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!
> 
> Here's the latest chapter. I'm not completely happy with it, but it helps segway into chapter 9, which is in the process of being written. Yay! My end goal is to have this fic finished by the end of summer, but we'll see how that goes. Cause, ya know, life happens. 
> 
> Enjoy the next bit--answers are coming soon, promise!

Molly stared dumbfounded at Sherlock for a solid minute after his revelation. Then did the only thing she could do.

She laughed.

She laughed so hard tears ran down her face. Her knees buckled and she slid down the door onto the floor. She laughed so hard she gasped for air, and when she got a glimpse of Sherlock’s thunderstruck face, she laughed even harder.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she heard him mutter.

Which only made her laugh even more.

After five minutes, she was able to quiet her merriment to merely small bouts of giggling. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at her former lover.

“Mycroft,” she stated with a chuckle. “Mycroft wants to kill me? Sherlock, your brother is _terrified_ of me.” She watched as he huffed, pulled out his phone and began texting. She heard her phone chime on the sofa. She began to pull herself up, when she saw Sherlock extend his hand. Without thinking, she took it and allowed him to help her off the ground. She landed in front of him, her chest only millimeters away from his. She could feel the sparks between them, even after three years. She saw his pupils dilate and his eyes dart to her mouth. She swallowed hard and removed herself from his space, quickly heading towards the sofa. She grabbed her phone and pulled up his text.

_A fact that gives me endless amounts of delight, however I’m not talking about Mycroft._

Molly looked up at him. “Then who?” Her phone chimed again.

_My other brother._

“You… have another brother?” Molly’s brow furrowed. “You’ve never mentioned him before. Nor has Mycroft. As far as anyone in England is aware Sherlock, you and Mycroft are the only two Holmes brothers.” Her phone chimed rapidly as his texts came through.

_We have another brother. Sherrinford._

_He was put in an institution when he was ten. Psychopathic._

_He’s the reason why Moriarty fixated on me. Why Moriarty knew all he did about me. Sherrinford is…was Moriarty’s right hand man._

Molly’s head was reeling.

“You have another brother.” Sherlock nodded. “A brother who is a psychopath.” Another nod. “And this brother was Moriarty’s right hand man.” A third nod. “And… why does he want to kill us again?” She watched him as he went back to furiously typing on his phone.

_Moriarty’s lover. Blames me for his death. Wants revenge. Also, bored._

Her face twisted in confusion. ”Sherrinford was Moriarty’s lover? And he blames you for his death?”

A grunt in assent.

“So… where do I come into play?”

_Burn the heart out of me._

She gaped at him, her thoughts a tangled mess she couldn’t unravel without his help. “Sherlock, I know you’re trying, but I still don’t understand.”

He visibly became frustrated at the amount of information he was trying to input and threw his phone at the wall with a shout, shattering it.

“Too much!” he shouted, the words broken through the wires. Her phone chimed with one last text alert, but she ignored it as she rushed to the detective.

“Sherlock, calm down!” she soothed, her hands running up and down his biceps in an attempt to mollify him. He cradled his head, anger with his inability to speak properly coming off him in waves. He broke away from her and grabbed her phone, shoving it into her left hand. She gasped when he cradled her face and pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

It was short and hard but still full of passion, and very unlike any of the other kisses Molly had shared with Sherlock in the past. A wave of arousal washed over her as he ended the kiss, and brought her right hand up to his chest to rest over his heart. He placed his hand over hers, and gently wrapped his other hand around the wrist holding her phone. He raised it and gestured for her to open the text.

 _You are my heart_.

Molly’s eyes shot to his and she gasped at the emotion she saw behind them. She realized the organ he was famously thought not to have was _racing_ under her hand. She re-read the texts he had sent to her, and slowly some of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“He was going to burn the heart out of you,” she murmured. She felt his hand tighten its hold over hers, his heart still beating madly under her palm. She met his eyes again. “He threatened to kill me?”

Sherlock nodded.

“You left to save me?” she asked, her voice breaking. He nodded again, his eyes stormy. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she whispered.

His jaw clenched as he struggled to speak. “Threatened to hurt you. Torture you. While I watched. If I even hinted.” She threw her phone on the sofa and cupped his cheek as he fought through the metal binding his jaw shut. “I’d rather. Live without you. Than live _without_ you,” he finished painfully.

“Sherlock,” she breathed, the tears spilling down her cheeks. Her heart broke all over again with his admission. She had doubted his love for her for so long. Her breath began hitching as the tears came more freely. He gently grasped her wrist and pressed a kiss to her palm. She sobbed harder and Molly allowed him to gently pull her into his arms and hold her. She sobbed for the life they could have had together and the life they would never know. And she sobbed in relief, for the answers she knew were finally coming her way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why can’t I have a nice, normal romantic relationship for once in my life,” she muttered to herself.  
>  _Because normal is boring_ , a nasty little voice in the back of her mind whispered. _And you know it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!
> 
> So, this story won't be finished by summer's end, but I'm looking at a new deadline for myself of Christmas. I should have more free time now that my show is over. Hope you enjoy this installment <3

Molly lay in bed and fiddled with her engagement ring, her head spinning. The revelations of the last 48 hours were almost too much for her to bear. She desperately wished for a stiff drink and a warm embrace—though, with a guilty twinge, she wasn’t sure whose arms she wanted to be in more—Sherlock’s or Michael’s. Sherlock’s confession had awakened feelings that Molly thought had been long since buried and the things he said to her that evening continued to chase each other in her mind.

_You are my heart._

_“I’d rather live without you than live **without** you.”_

“Why can’t I have a nice, _normal_ romantic relationship for once in my life,” she muttered to herself.

 _Because normal is boring_ , a nasty little voice in the back of her mind whispered. _And you know it._

“Shut up,” she replied crossly, rolling her eyes at the futility of arguing with herself. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t ended up marrying Tom. Oh, he was nice enough and certainly loved her, but the man was boring and predictable. After so many years of being around Sherlock and carrying a torch for him, Molly no longer wanted boring and predictable, she needed excitement. She needed spontaneity.

She needed Sherlock.

She bit her lip as her heart skipped a beat and closed her eyes, trying to force away the warmth in her chest that had erupted when she remembered how he had kissed her less than two hours ago. It hurt, due to the wires, but there was a passion and desperation that was behind it that Molly had never experienced with him before. Before, she realized, Sherlock never had to prove his love to her. He simply showed her how he felt, expecting that she would believe him.

And she did.

She always believed he could do better than her, but she did believe him.

But this kiss… he knew she had no longer believed he loved her. He was desperately trying to prove that he still loved her, still cared about her, and always had. That his love for her was why he left. Tears slid down her cheeks as she thought about how desperate he must have been to pack up and leave her. To leave everything he never thought he would have behind…

She took a breath and forced those thoughts from her mind, but sleep still eluded her as other surprises from this evening took their place.

_Sherlock is back and was in London._

_Someone wants both of us killed._

_That someone is his brother._

_Sherlock and Mycroft have another brother._

_Sherrinford._

_He’s psychotic._

_And he wants me dead._

_To finish what Moriarty started._

_And Michael is an MI6 agent who has been protecting me since Sherlock left._

“Bloody hell, I need a drink.”

She climbed out of bed and padded to the tiny kitchen. She was startled to find a light on in the front room, and the detective she couldn’t get out of her mind, nursing a glass of scotch. Molly grabbed a glass from a cabinet in the kitchen, plopped down next to him and poured herself a finger. Ignoring the stare he was aiming at her, she downed it in one go and shuddered as the liquid burned. She immediately poured herself another finger, choosing to nurse this one and leaned back into the sofa. She still felt Sherlock’s eyes on her, so she turned and asked, “What?”

Instead of laboring to speak, he held up a finger and stood. He procured a sheet of paper and a pen from the desk against the front window and wrote, _Didn’t know you drank scotch._

Molly shrugged in response. “Speak for yourself,” she shot back.

_It’s the only alcohol in this godforsaken place and a drink seemed appropriate._

“Hear, hear,” Molly replied, raising her glass to him. He clinked it and they both drank, Molly shuddering violently in response to the harsh liquor, while Sherlock hissed. “So,” she started after a moment, “what do we do now?”

Sherlock shrugged. _Wait for Mycroft’s instructions, I suppose._

Molly sighed. “I wasn’t asking about what to do about your brother, Sherlock.”

 _I know_.

“So?”

_What do you want me to say?_

“I don’t know,” she whispered, throwing back her drink and pouring another.

_How many do you plan on having?_

“Enough to get me stinking drunk. Why? What number are you on?”

 _I’m not drunk_.

“That’s not what I asked, Sherlock.” Molly sipped her drink and stared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching as the alcohol did its magical work and loosened her up. She took in the curls she used to run her fingers through, the neck she used to nibble on, the lips she used to kiss—

 _Get a hold of yourself, Hooper!_ she chided herself. She finished her drink and poured yet another.

 _Might want to slow down a bit, there,_ Sherlock wrote. Molly felt a surge of audacity flow through her, and all of her rational thought fly out the window.

“Make me,” she dared, her voice steely. She met his eyes and held them, pleased to see that they were flashing with desire. The air around them sparked with electricity. Molly somehow knew that there was a line she was very, very close to crossing and did not care one bit.

Sherlock broke the moment first, throwing back his drink and shifting his body away from her as he poured another finger. “No,” he gritted out.

Molly’s stomach dropped and something in her chest began to hurt. Her eyes welled with tears as it crashed down on her what she was about to do, what she was challenging Sherlock to do.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d blame it on the drink, but then we both know I’d be lying.” Sherlock grunted his agreement and nursed his scotch. The pain and desire in his eyes was almost too much for Molly. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm, her heart cracking more as he flinched a bit. “Sherlock,” she began, “I’m _sorry_. For all of it.”

He froze. “What do you mean ‘all of it’?”

She took a deep breath. “For falling in love with you. For the choice you had to make. For being with Michael. For hitting you. For all of it.”

He was still and quiet for a very long time. Molly finished her scotch and leaned back into the sofa, her eyes closing. She had almost dozed off when Sherlock shook her awake and pointed to a fresh sheet of paper on which he’d written:

_I’m not sorry. As long as you are alive and happy, Molly Hooper, I would never change a thing about what happened—or what will happen—between us. _

Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she tentatively slid her arms around Sherlock’s middle and squeezed. His arms came around her and they sat, intertwined. She listened to his heart beat, and started when she heard a rumble in his chest. _Oh, he’s talking to me_. _Bloody hell, I need to lie down._

“Hmm?”

He chuckled. “Which time are you sorry for?” he managed. At her questioning look, he pointed to his face. “Hitting me. Which time?”

She gaped at him for a moment longer until it clicked. “For breaking your jaw. I’ll never be sorry for hitting you in the lab,” she said, her eyes dancing. He smirked and kissed her forehead.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we—erm—lie down? The world is spinning and I’m not sure getting up right now would be wise.” He didn’t reply, but lay down on the sofa, taking her with him so she was laying on his chest. The feeling was familiar and strange all at once. Before she could grasp her feelings on their current situation, Molly drifted off to sleep.

***

A clicking sound was heard in the quiet cabin. With a final _snick_ , the door quietly slid open and two shadowy figures entered. They approached the sleeping couple and the first figured chuckled darkly.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured softly. “Look what we have here. Seems Miss Hooper isn’t the most faithful when her one and only has come home to play.” He cocked his head in the gloom. “Big brother, tsk tsk,” he clucked. “I’m going to have soooooo much fun with you.” 

The man turned to the figure next to him. His eyes glittered dangerously in the darkness and he brushed off the suit he was wearing in an eerie imitation of Jim Moriarty. “Now,” he began, “that you see where your fiancée’s true feelings lie, perhaps it’s time for you to tell me what I want to know. And remember,” he sing-songed, “if you lie, I’ll _end_ you. You and her. Who knows? Maybe, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you _watch_.” He grinned maniacally as he watched his words sink in. The other man didn’t respond immediately, but Sherrinford was patient.

The other man sighed heavily. “You promise you’ll leave her alone if I tell you what you want to know?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Sherrinford chuckled.

There was a very long silence.

“Fine,” Michael croaked. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know about MI6.”


End file.
